C5 Presents- The Ultimate Cargo Bike from South America Part 8 – or Real Men Push Bikes

(Go Around, Idiots. Just Go Around!…My new temporary motto. A work in progress)

With your host, Category5 and special guests, The Village People…Just Kidding!

( This months view count continued to climb to a wopping 17 hundred views without trying very hard. So much for my evil plan to insult and scare off as many readers as possible. I will just need to try harder. I can tell by the clicks that people keep checking in, waiting on edge for my next post. For this wonderful outpouring of asperger compulsiveness, you shall now be rewarded)

This is what started it all for me. Oh, not my original, first ever YouTube video on “The Apocalypse Specific Bicycle”… that got over 20,000 views before I freaked out and took it down. I wasn’t ready yet to be a public personality. I felt too exposed. I had too many personal demons. I am certainly no one’s Role Model.

Well, I guess I had hit a nerve, itching away just underneath the surface like a zit that won’t break the skin. Next thing I knew, there was a fad of Bug Out Bikes. Grown men were camouflaging bicycles and accessorising them like GI Joes dolls, adding tactical bags, gun racks and leafaflage. Yikes. They missed the whole point that this was an everyday tool to move shit around. Not to play Bicycle Rambo.

No. What I mean to talk about is the South American Bike Truck, simply referred to down here as “The Trike”.

I had retired from posting on assorted boards. I wanted to disappear into obscurity like a Grey Man. To never talk to anyone on the internet again. I was done. I had run my race. No more trying to help people. No more trying to save prepping from itself.

Within the first day of being here in South America, I noticed the unique bike truck. As a cargo bike aficionado how could I not. It seemed interesting but ridiculous. How could this heavy steel contraption ever be pedalable… and yet, there was just something about it that got in my craw.

Then, as time went by and I explored further out of the safe zone I started seeing them everywhere… and started to realize that this pedalable contraption was doing a lot of the heavy work in this megacity of 10 million souls. There are thousands of them. Maybe tens of thousands.

I realized, I did not have the right to my privacy. My Conscience and Honour would not allow it. I had to come back online and share this seemingly awkward contraption with the world. At least to the so-called “developed world”. I was going to need my own blog. Every post I have made so far, was a very intentional train of thought leading to this post and beyond.

What can I say. I am a long game player.

But before we get there…

And by now you know when you hear those 5 little words that something inappropriate is coming. You now know to cover your Gonads for the inevitable, Secret Ninja, kick in the nuts…Of Death

I mentioned people with Daddy Issues in an earlier post. So, what do I mean by “Daddy Issues”? There is a LOT of people out there that want to tell you what “Real Men” are supposed to do. There is a LOT of people in the Preparedness world with Daddy Issues. What I mean by this is, at some point in a boy’s life, their “Daddy” called them a fag… or implied it… and those people with this clinical Disease spent the rest of their lives trying to live up to not being a “fag”, and win Daddys love, instead of calling it what it was. Abuse. And a developing young man generally isn’t quite ready to say, “You are done. You have lost the right to be involved in my life. You will never know your grandchildren. You will die unmourned.”

Whenever someone tells you what “Real Men” are supposed to do, you know, Sports, pickup trucks, Remington 870s, Harley’s, sacrificing themselves on the battle field for freedom, working 60 hours/week to provide for their families and the children they have decided not to raise… just think to yourself “Daddy Issues”. In oxymoronic fashion sense, there is a word for men obsessed with all things manly. Hint. It’s three happy little letters that starts with a ‘g’ and ends with collecting antiques.

True story. I don’t know if you know this, but there used to be another member of the Village People back when they started. Survivalist man. You might have forgotten him. It was a problem right from the start because he wasn’t a very good dancer. He was too much of a self-focusing loner so he couldn’t sync with the other Villagers. You might have gotten him confused with Army Village Person. In fact, that was what broke up those two’s tumultuous, on and off again relationship. Survivalist Village Person started to dress more and more like Army Village Person as often happens with couples. But Army Village Person didn’t want to be seen in public with Survivalist Village Person because he just looked like a dorky poser. There soon became incidents of domestic violence and several trips to the hospital emergency room. A good friend, Doctor Village Person wanted no part of it, and made some phone calls. That’s when Police Village Person got involved and told them, if it happened again he would have to press charges. Survivalist Village Person made some threats at Police Village Person. Judge Village Person was not impressed and sentenced him to 6 months in prison, where Survivalist Village Person became the bitch of the Aryan Nations and developed a drug problem. The real problems for the Village People began when Survival Village Person got out of prison. It started when he wanted everyone to start calling him Survivalist Man, because “Village” and “the people” actually just sounded too “Socialist” and Faggy. It went from bad to worse when, one day, he showed up in a tactical vest with a 3%er patch on it. Biker Village Person, a member of a 1%er motorcycle club, took offense. He knocked Survivalist Man out, ripped his vest and patch off, set it on fire and then pissed on it. Survivalist Man had no idea how close he came to dying that day. He was warned if it happened again, a ballpein hammer was waiting for him in an ally. The Village People were starting to fall apart. Cowboy Village Person tried to support Survivalist Man since they had done a lot of camping and fishing trips together. This would break up the long Co-Dependent relationship between Cowboy Village Person and Indian Village Person who was just horrified. Indian Village Person left the group for a while and got a part in “The Warriors” hit movie before facing his own existential crisis about cultural misappropriation that came to a head with the “Hey-Ya” song. He was never really the same after that. Cowboy Village Person took to drinking beer in the morning and whiskey in the evening. As he broke down, he started playing country music backwards because he believed that it would make his broken truck start, his dog come home, his Indian wife come back and all this would somehow Make America Great Again. After being kicked out of one too many rodeo bars for inappropriate drunken line dancing, and seeing what was happening to Survivalist Man, he joined AA and pulled his life back together again.

It all came to a head when several Village People walked into the dressing room after a show where Survival Man had been missing. They found him naked, in an oxycontin and meth twitchy stupor masturbating to a White Power website while mumbling to himself something about killing Muslims. That’s when they noticed the swastika tattoo. It was time for intervention so they kicked him out of the Village. With this act, the group was able to mend their fences and went onto a successful career, still doing shows down here in South America to this very day.

Survivalist Man became a Born Again Christian, replacing one addiction for the other, but he was able to pull it together enough for a movie part. He became Bert Gummer in Tremors 1 through 5, and is, to this day, the pinup poster model on the walls of many lonely survivalists gun vaults where he receives regular deposits of sploosh via tissues and tube socks. His face is on the bottle of the popular “Backdoor Gun Lube” for which he still gets royalties.

(something, something about fare use, no rights to and it can always be repaced by a plethera of other images if there is a complaint)

Survivalist Man now lives in the Idaho Redoubt with his life partner James Wesley Rawles. Survivalist Man would become Rawles Muse and the inspiration for the “Patriots” book series. They secretly married in 2007 under the Obama administration but hide this from their fans. They still give interviews and sign autographs on the Gun Circuit, selling Bug Out Bags and other grossly overpriced “Survivalist” products of questionable merit as well as the deeply inappropriate “Black Guns Matter” T-shirts that shows Survival Man is still trying to provoke a Race War. He might get his wish.

Now, all this is, of course, Fake News. Then again, there is no proof that it didn’t happen this way. Could there be a Conspiracy of the Elites to cover up these facts. You decide. The C5 lesson to be learned here is….

C5 Rule of Survival- Its Takes a “Village”.

Buduptup!

Damn. I missed an opertunity for a mustache joke but I am getting nothing.

How about some country line dancing…with Asian School Girls. Feel free to take a break if you need to dance. No one’s watching.

As far as I am concerned, a Real Man can do whatever the Fuck he wants to do…and he can do it in his own way…and at his own speed.

So, I am going to show you all what a Real Man looks like. A real hero. It turns out, Real Men push bikes.

I was snapping some shots to do with traffic congestion when my instincts caught something in the corner of my eye. I kept snapping. It was only afterwards that I realised a Morality Play was happening and I was simply documenting the gods at play.

This asshole blocked my shot just as the guy was hopping on the bike to ride on. No biggy. It would just get deleted in the trash bucket. Then I realised this 20 plus thousand dollar truck purchased on credit, indebted to insurance companies, bank companies, oil companies, infrastructure repair companies and tax retrieval companies, was the kings jester fool in this celestial theater play. I realised he was carrying about the same weight as old bike truck guy. On closer inspection, The Divine Irony was that the jester was also carrying a bicycle in the back of the truck. Totally Shambolic.

But the show wasnt over. The next thing that caught my peripheral vision was the motorcycle version creeping up from behind very slowly.

You can tell the wieght he is carrying buy the flat tires that arent stopping him from Gettin er dun.This guy is younger, heavier and relient on an engine. Hum.Off they ride into the sunset. Drop curtain.

Now I’m going to divide this into 2 articles. The first will be the peddle version. The second will be on the motorized version and then a curious amalgamation of the two.

Unlike many tools available for Permaculture, Transition or Preparedness for a world of quickly declining EROEI or Energy Return on Energy Investment, leading to oil supply shocks, resource supply shortages and more importantly, the economic contraction if not full collapse of the economy…

…You won’t be able to just go out and buy yourself one of these. I am going to provide enough photos and descriptions so that, hopefully, these can be reversed engineered back home and around the world. I would like to see a bike building company take on this challenge but more so, I can see some enterprising welder being able to put these together. You would need a welding unit, tube steel, a pipe bender and a light trailer axle from some local company like Princess Auto. (no affiliation) I’ll leave someone else to figure out how to find and mount the wheels.

At first, I thought, maybe, people could make a much lighter version using higher tec bike building materials. Like this smaller version used by an agriculture proffesor.

On further study of this vehicle, though, I realized I was misunderstanding the whole concept. This wasn’t really a bicycle at all . This was a cart. A carriage. It simply had a heavy steel bike attached to it to stabilize, control it and ride it down hills.

I’ve seen things that “Look” like it before. So have you. Most have seen ice cream carts that can be pedalled. In China they have trikes that “Look” similar but the bike is on the front. It wouldn’t be able to carry nearly as much weight and has a much wider turning radius. In Mexico the government brought in and distributed a bicycle cab that “looks” similar. It takes a standard bike, removes the front forks and attaches it to a cart. It looks alittle more like this modified local version with its hinge placement and lack of shocks.

Very quickly, people stopped using them as taxis and started using them for cargo. I saw one of these in Mexico being pushed down the highway loaded with deadfall branches piled high above the pushers head. But this design can’t be controlled at any speed. You certainly couldn’t attached a motorcycle to it. Hitting a pot hole or rock would yank it out of your hands and you would crash.

The South American bike truck is a completely different animal altogether. It is not the same as other trikes. It hauls much more and is stable at speed. It’s all about the balance points and the hinge points. That was the “Ah Hah” moment for me. This is why, I posted the article on the Chinese wheel barrow when I did http://www.lowtechmagazine.com/2011/12/the-chinese-wheelbarrow.html . If you understand its balance point you can understand how much weight can actually be loaded without straining the operator. Then I added the article on the Vietnam war bicycle on how much cargo can be pushed in a mass logistical operation http://www.historynet.com/pedal-power-bicycles-in-wartime-vietnam.htm . Before that I told the story of me crossing the Rocky Mountains with a grossly overloaded bike where I pushed the bike up mountains then road it down the other side. All that writing was a lead up to this moment, including the other stories of embracing low energy input, poverty based prepping. A severe downshifting of energy, cost expenditures and expectations. I was also pointing out that even in a collapse, resources needed to be brought in and places needed to be gotten to. Trade and transport continues by other means. Yup. This is all about managing logistics… and yes I am that crafty.

The first mistake I can see people making about the Bike Trucks is that this is just a step up from mentality ill, homeless drug addicts pushing shopping carts of recyclables. That would be a big mistake. This is the means of many small businesses. The amount of recycling done in this city is epic. Every garbage bag will be gone through by several people a night. The best quality of recyclables will be taken first. Latecomers will take what’s left. Daytime recyclers will go so far as to have speakers, calling out that they are there and ready to haul away cardboard, old mattresses that they strip for the steel springs, old appliances that go to electric repair businesses, old furniture that goes to craftsmen working 3 men in a 10 x 20 foot garage stripping them down to their frames and rebuilding. But don’t be thinking this is all about salvage. At some future time we will do a post on the magnificent efficiency of inefficiency that I see down here. But this is the means of many micro businesses. I have seen modest homes where a driveway was made specifically for a bike truck, or I see them locked up in the courtyards I mentioned in the “sharp and pointy things” article. Tradesmen use them in lieu of a truck, reducing all vehicle related costs. Financing, insurance, gas and repairs. Tile layers, construction workers moving tools, lawn care workers… and furniture movers are a sight to behold.

Here is anothe Real Man, elderly fellow.

I’ve seen furniture movers, moving in 2 man teams, one pushing from the back, one pulling and steering form the front, right in the middle of downtown traffic jams, pretty much moving at the same speed as the clogged cars. Anyone that wants to go faster simply has to go around. More of that later. Each bike truck owner gets to negotiate their rate with the person that needs something moved.

If the person needing something moved doesn’t like the cost there is usually someone cheaper or more desperate or simply trying to fill their time while waiting for a better job, that wants to be seen working so someone else will notice them for a later job, or simply to justify their daily food costs.

Farmers use these, as well as local transport moving produce from trucking distribution points to local retailers and street level sellers. This guy was hauling about a half a ton.

Sometimes they do direct sales by rolling through the streets with an annoying blow horn announcing what they have for sale directly to the housekeepers tending children that can’t go out. It’s chaotic but there is an, end of the gas and finance age, efficiency to it.

This gets to another Big Issue. Oh, not the local markets or distribution points within easy walking distance but competition with the markets themselves. These are mobile small stores for those that can’t afford store fronts or the bureaucratic costs of rent, taxes, licensing.

So I can see future millennials and beyond, taking up these bike trucks as mobile retail space in a, sort of, anarchist marketeering. Let’s face it, nowadays, with all the employment laws, licenses, retail space costs, warehouse space costs, bank financing costs, and taxes taxes taxes, any start up small business doesn’t have a chance. You have to already be a millionaire to start a small business. For those of us that aren’t millionaires, that keeps us out of the markets with no other choice then but to be a wage slave to someone that is. The answer then is guerilla marketing. Mobile retail, playing cat and mouse with bylaw enforcers, accepting the occasional fine or confiscation of goods as a cost of doing business. If you are bound to get a ticket in one area you can move to another area you are less likely to get harassed. If you cut down your retail overheard costs, you can charge much less for your product, labour, and skills capital. You can bring your market to the people instead of bringing people to the market.

I have already done this sort of thing before. I have sold handmade furniture, art and cool recyclables on a trailer behind a vehicle or on the roof. (there will be a future article on sturdy roof racks to turn your commuting car into a cargo vehicle). I would park directly on the street or sometimes in a park. If people asked me about the displayed items, I had a potential customer or gave them my card. If a business owner complained or police asked me what I was doing, I would look them straight in the eye… and lie. And I kept moving. That way if someone contacted bylaw enforcement, it would take them a few days to fill out the paperwork to send somebody and I would no longer be there. I can’t feel too sorry for the store owners that had “cornered the market” to keep the poor out of starting small businesses, to keep a desperate pool of minimum wage slaves. Sooooo… rolling anarchist markets on wheels. Of course you can always try for a vendors license and pay the man… good luck with that.

As a person that has spent a decade of his life living in vehicles I fully understand how something with wheels IS mobile land and how I could mitigate transportation and housing costs by staying near my income source, while playing cat and mouse with Evil, self-entitled, legal overloads with their lawyers and occupational army in blue, trolling in squad cars like sharks scenting injury or weakness in the water to feed on. Unconscious Morlock instincts.

As this swirling, progression into the water slide of our cultural collapse, picks up, fasten your seat belt, crash speed, I can see the millennials Adapting this as a minor solution to their miserable lot in life. There is that word again. Adaptation.

(Warning- Un Grammatically Correct rambling Rant ahead)

I am prognosticating that Survivalism will go the way of grandpappy buried in his fallout shelter, entombed with his gun collection and WWII Nazi paraphernalia, like a pharaoh. Aged Preppers, no longer able to purchase “preps”, will huddle, squatting in their foreclosed homes waiting to be evicted under blankets, basking in the warming glow of ancient computers watching memory files of Doomsday Preppers while complaining about girlie men and young people nowadays. Collapseniks will be very retro, revisited as beat poetry in someone’s apartment bar where they keep a still cooking on the roof and turn the living room into a night time booze can, whilst sleeping on the couch during the day. And crazy Doomer Prophets like me, shamble through the streets in tattered second hand clothes form the 90s, ringing a bell, drooling a bit in my incoherent ramblings, “bring our your bikes! Bring out your hoes!”, while still holding a sign that reads “The End is Nigh!!! FUCKERS!”… probably scrawled in my own blood and feces… where people, occasionally feeling sorry for me bring me a bowl of squash and cabbage soup… until one day my body is found in a ditch with a saintly glazed over stare… and a rigormortised middle finger presented to the sky.

The quickly aging Millennials will be teaching the principles of the new Adapter Movement to the younger generation, on the far edges of the long abandoned suburbs, where they wisely started in their mom’s basement before accidently reinventing the multigenerational home. These will be packed with relatives and a couple of homeless trophy wives they picked up turning tricks on the street, with their children in tow, for food. With their couple of disabled uncles, back from some failed oil war of occupation, sitting on the porch with rusty shotguns at night to guard the gardens and the pool they repurposed, not for swimming, but to collect rainwater from the roofs, pitifully saluting to the soldiers that patrol the streets behind heavy machine guns, while they are all slowly taking over the abandoned neighbours’ yards by planting permaculture perennials and fruit trees while discussing burning down a few of the abandoned houses in the neighbourhood to keep the ex-bank drones and real estate salesmen turned crack heads, out while improving lines of sight.

Taxes will be even higher now due to the triple tax. Failed, bankrupt government still trying to pay a small part of the interest on the loans obligations they can never pay off. Payolas, in vegetables to the local police so he doesn’t find an ancient bylaw infraction to put you in debtor’s prison for. And then there is the tax you pay to the local organized crime group, the only tax that benefits you and you are happy to pay because they are the only functioning government in the area to hear neighbours disputes. And organized crime does keep disorganized crime out of the neighbourhood while they soak up bullets in territorial wars. You luckily can scrape together enough bling and produce to pay this all off because of so many bodies living in the house to throw body heat while a couple of the kids work in the now mega cities to send home some savings from their couple of dollar a day jobs, having made a cozy dry home in an abandoned car after ripping out the seats and engines, occasionally riding home on one of these bike trucks with a load of useful scrap metal, antibiotics, and sacks of highly sought after animal grade wheat for granny to cook up nutritional breakfasts. These bike trucks replace the abandoned “alpha male” trucks which have been pulled up front of the house, conveniently to be turned into raised bed gardens so it is easier on granny’s back to keep gardening into her old age. The truck cabs rotated between greenhouses for starter plants in the spring, solar water heaters in the summer, solar dehydrators in the early harvest and dry firewood storage for the winter. Except for a few Semi Autonomous large Towns surrounded by the few, viable, still functioning farms, worked by transient slave like climate refugees, the rural areas having been abandoned after the furry and feathered game was hunted to extinction. No longer able to afford transport or pesticide or tractor diesel or fertilizer or starter seed, Rural Refugees have walked to the nearest megacities hoping for any dollar a day job, leaving behind a nitrate and Roundup polluted wasteland haunted by homeless old survivalist patriots with bugout bags, turned cannibals and raiders. Occasionally, these Semi Autonomous Towns organize the entire population to spread out and beat the bushes to cull out these dangerous, self-made refugee survivalists turned threat to public safety.

Okay I got a bit distracted there…and I was mixing timelines a bit. So sue me. Survivalists seem to miss these transitional states anyhow…

Perhaps I am fancifully self-imposing myself on history. If the next gen do take up the made up moniker “Adapter Movement” it would be nice if I got a shout out as the self-deluded old guy that came up with the name, documented for posterity by some other doomer chronicler, in the same way I tell people the first ever use of the term “Prepping” came from the Foxfire book series. With any luck, the New Adapters will create a mythos of “no survivalist or preppers allowed”. Trust me on this. If you don’t, expect them to shamble back and try to take over like a bad zombie movie. Imagine the creeping dead in boony caps, empty 1911s open carried, using AR-15s as crutches to make up for their eaten off leg they lost in a survivalist food fight, moaning, “OPSEC… Shit Hits the Fan… the constitution… illegal aliens… militia rights… YOUNG BRAAAINS!…”.

Anyway, I don’t think the new Millennial Adaptors are going to be very forgiving of the next round of Timothy McVeigh like terrorists blowing us up to bring us freedom. Nor of the next round of Christian Reconstructionists, finally seizing their opportunity to impose a Theonamy on unbelievers, Instituting the death penalty on all things heretical, disobedient and gay, “If not by the ballot box, then by the cartridge box”. I think the Millennials will be rather miffed at the right wing Death Squads, that slaughtered the friendly Muslim family next door, the Kumar buddy they smoked pot with in high school and worked with at the Kwiki Mart for minimum wage to keep up with the interest on the useless student loan dept. They might just be horrified at the assassination of the kindly, eccentric old lefty professor from school. They wont be all Patriotic about the Ethnic Cleansing to save us from “Terrorists”. And they might be discombobulated about the new, random, house and person searches in the Dictatorship that follows…in a Dumbassed paranoids, SELF FULFILLING PROPHESY. What exactly did you think was going to happen? A ticker tape parade to the sound of The Saints Come Marching Home, and bitches in mini skirts running up for a swooning kiss.

OOPS. There I go again…Well, if you wants the soup, first ya got to listen to da preaching…

This is a photo of a photo from the Yuyanapao, Sort of a Truth and Reconciliation museum about the time of violence, where right wing death squads and real Maoists terrorists wrecked the country…not the fantasy ones, Howard Kunstler made up in his head to whine about. Its insulting.

You will notice the bike truck in the photo from the 80s is much shinier and new. Most of the ones I see are ancient and keep being rebuilt….

Which presents us with some great photos for those that would like to reverse engineer one. This is a short, light version. Notice the light axel and wheels.This is the next step up heavier axel and wheels. Notice the size comparison to the heavy loader beside it.Last, the decent workers version.

These get rebuilt, reconditioned, and rusted parts rewelded on over and over again. The paint is to stop rust. Remember my C5 rule? “all of civilization is held together by paint” and “if you love it, put a ring on it. A ring of paint… or oil or wax or fucking animal grease if that’s all you got”.

Also before I forget, the balance point is just a bit forward. That way if the rider hits a bump, the load will want to straighten itself out instead of whipping out of the rider’s hands.The braking system.It apocalypticly, convieniently uses easy to recycle, old tire rubber for the brake pad.

I’m giving you all you need so an entrepreneur, a bike builder or some unemployed but mechanically inclined redneck can start pumping these out in his garage.

Share this with everyone you know. Share it with the guy at your local bike shop or online bike magazine. Share it with your unemployed friend with a garage full of tools. Share it with environmentalist blogs. Share it on the right side of politics. I know you guys are watching but I remain a political agnostic. Share this on peak oil blogs. Share this on anarchist newsposts. Share this on Transition Town and permaculture sites. Share this with my enemies on useless pop survivalist and prepper boards. Share this with Christian missionaries doing aid work… wherever. In fact share this with any government foreign aid agency that wants to throw some guilt money at “developing countries”. Share this with entrepreneurs. Share this with idealistic hippies with a community garden plot. Share this with the hunter that wants a way to haul a moose down a logging road. Share this with urban hipster dumpster divers. In fact share it at your favorite local microbrewery… think of all the beer you can haul.

As I often say, “Share me with your friends. Share me with you wife. Share me with your lover. Share me with your lover’s wife, like one big dysfunctional inbred family”.

In a “Fight Club” like manner, this is a homework assignment. Repost this at least three times. I have a VERY small readership and I like it that way because I am less likely to be arrested for some small everyday infraction, receive death threats or be assassinated for my positions. The internet sucks as much as it is useful. But this ain’t about me.

In fact, for one time and one time only… I will allow you to edit me on this post only. You can coppy this post or repost me anywhere and edit out my foul mouthed, punk rock prepper, generally obnoxious self to get this info “out there”. It’s that important to the world… and me.

If you don’t, this post just goes into the dumpster that is the internet, into my archives, never to be seen again exept by accident. Consider it “Paying it forward” or “Giving love to Jesus” or the conscienscious prepprer’s motto “Save as many as you can”. I don’t care.

It’s now on your conscience. You can carry it.

Why, Yes. I am one dangerous and manipulative son of a bitch. No apologies.

One last thing. Don’t be presenting this as a “solution”. I don’t believe there are solutions to the world’s predicament at this stage in the game. We are far past that point already. Only Adaptations or death. We are ALL going to ride this crazy roller coaster ride to the end station.

If that is too somber of a note to end on…Here is more Sexy Female Police Officers On Bikes. This time, its interesting folders you can fit in a trunk. I cant believe this shot actually happened. The gods at play…

If there is ever a motto for this theoretical “Neo-Adapters Movement”, may I suggest – “Go Around, Idiots! Just Go Around”.